


The Son of Another

by iezzern



Series: His Shadow'verse [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Coming of Age, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: Lucien's POV of Chapter 11 of The Warrior and His Shadow.Lucien almost doesn’t believe it and something breaks inside him. Something hard and endless and hurting. Beron isn’t his father. The Autumn Court isn’t really his home. He isn’t Joash and Neri’s full brother. Beron has no claim to him anymore. No claim to hurt him.“My son,” Helion says, “By the Mother, you’re my son”
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand/Lucien Vanserra, Lucien Vanserra & Helion
Series: His Shadow'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919506
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	The Son of Another

**Author's Note:**

> I'd advise reading From Ember to Ashes before reading this one for context, but it's not required. Enjoy reading!

It’s strange, Lucien realizes, to be on equal footing with his father.

Sitting here, beside Rhys and Feyre, he’s not below any of the High Lords or his brothers. He’s not disposable and an object to torture for fun. He’s not Tamlin’s little bitch, obeying his every whim. He’s powerful now, even if it is by association. He has a say, and his opinion actually matters for once.

The High Lord and High Lady of Night _chose_ him to be their lover, over anyone else. They’d let him into their relationship and cherished him as if he’d been there since the beginning. To Lucien, it says a lot more about his new home than anything. They don’t expect him to immediately go back to work or give them information about the enemy, even if it could prove useful. When Lucien had asked Rhys when they would put him to work, Rhys had answered “When you’re ready”

The first night between them, in their bed, he’d slept longer and better than ever. No nightmares to wake him; no orders to follow and fill the day. He’d been allowed to drowse in the sheets until midday, just relaxing. It didn’t exactly take away all his troubles, but it certainly helped.

Which is why he doesn’t flinch and avoid stares right now. Why he meets High Lords’ gazes and doesn’t shy away. It’s an important meeting, Lucien knows. They have to convince the High Lords to fight a war for them. For the _mortals_. If this lasts over days, they’re lucky. It can take years for the High Lords to decide over something as vital as this. Lucien is sure that Rhys doesn’t intend to let this happen.

Azriel is seated by his side, his shadows fleeting out to circle Lucien’s seat. Lucien wonders if he realizes what he’s doing. Probably not. The shadows had appeared there when Beron and Lucien’s brothers had entered, as if they had sensed Lucien’s rising panic. It still terrifies him; the memory of his brothers—Joash, Neri and Rennari.

Lucien doesn’t quite know what to think of the Shadowsinger. On one hand, he’s so calm and collected—like he knows every twist and turn that their lives will take. On the other hand, he’s uncontrollable and frightening, especially around Cassian. Lucien still can’t wrap his head around their little affair. It seems like Azriel is ashamed of it, but still not—constantly shifting between pulling away and leaning in. It doesn’t appear that Cassian even knows of Azriel’s feelings, just writing it off as physical attraction. The constant pining will eventually kill Lucien.

He’s brought out of his musing by his father’s voice. It pierces through his thoughts, a cruel undertone, that he’s far too used to, present. Somehow, he always manages to feel helpless when he hears that voice. Like he’s still under his father’s thumb and will stay there forever. “What do you have to say, Lucien?” his father drawls, fingers toying with the edge of his sleeve, “How has the Night Court treated you?”

The question places him in a corner, with every eye on him. Without really meaning to, he blushes furiously. He should be used to this; damnit he’s always _loved_ attention. Lucien can see Joash and Neri smirking, murmuring and laughing to each other. _Calm down_ , a voice in his head says and he’s not sure if it’s his own or Rhys’s.

“Decently,” he answers, keeping his voice neutral. Don’t give them enough to make up their opinion, and don’t be vague enough to scare them off. It doesn’t appease his father, though, who laughs at his answer. Joash glances at Eris before laughing along. Lucien feels his face growing warmer, sweat gathering at his neck. His family has always had this ability; to make him feel stupid and childish.

“Any place is decent when you have a sweet, little mate there,” Beron says. Lucien can’t help but flinch. He doesn’t want to bring Elain into this. Especially not when they’ve agreed not to pursue their bond. Father probably expects him to be aggressive now, to snap or growl. Instead, Lucien says, calmly and borderline uncaring, “You wanted my opinion on Rhys and Feyre, there you have it. They’ve treated me better than anyone ever has these last hundred years”

He doesn’t dare look at Tamlin. Doesn’t dare acknowledge, more than this, that what Tamlin had done to him was abuse. That after a few years, Tamlin’s sanctuary had become a prison. The High Lords react, arching eyebrows and shifting in their seats. Good. He wants them to know that he’s close enough to Rhys to use his nickname.

Should put them in their place.

Father sneers at him, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. Lucien has no doubt he’s imagining Lucien’s own neck there. Neri has cocked his head, glancing between Rhys and Lucien. Something seems to dawn on him, his eyes widening. He always was the cleverest. After Lucien, of course. They used to play together when they were young. Neri had always been the one who Lucien ran to when he cried.

“Are you ready to come home to your dearest family yet?” Father asks, smirking. _Are you willing to let us kill you?_ is what his tone says. Lucien shrugs, tries to seem as uncaring as possible. With how much time he’s spent away from them, they won’t know it if he’s acting. “Are you ready to stop acting like dicks?” he asks.

Helion laughs at his quip, leaning heavily on his side to get a closer look at Lucien. Mother is tense, hand clutching onto the hands of her chair. She blinks a few times, in a rhythm. _Don’t make him angrier, stand down,_ it means. She’d always use this on Lucien and his brothers when Beron was at his worst. He doesn’t seem mad now, though, just amused. Eris, on the other hand, is glancing between Lucien and Mother with worry.

Lucien knows that he’ll place himself between Beron and Mother, even Lucien too, if it comes to the worst. Even Lucien has a hard time deciphering Eris’s motives at times, but if it’s one thing he’s sure of it’s that Eris will protect them from Beron. As he’s always done.

Memories of it flashes through Lucien’s head. Of laying collapsed on the floor, bruises littering his skin, and Eris standing in front of him with his back turned, staring Beron down. The only times Beron ever got to really hurt them was when Eris was gone.

Rhys starts talking, lounging back on the throne. “He’s not coming to the Autumn Court soon,” he says, smirking, “Seeing as he is of my Court now”

Leave it to Rhys to make everything a dramatic reveal. Mother startles at the statement, a small, nearly invisible smile appearing on her lips. Now she knows that Lucien is truly safe, because another High Lord has claimed him for his own. Rennari’s eyes narrow. He and Lucien are closest in age. Know the ins and outs of each other’s hurt and secrets. Know when words are loaded.

Lucien can pinpoint the moment the truth becomes apparent to Rennari. His mouth drops for a second and then he leans over to whisper to Joash. Lucien feels his cheeks heat again when they stare at him. Joash is slowly shaking his head, hiding his smirk behind a clenched fist.

“He’s barely spent months with you,” Beron insists, his voice growing loud. All the Vanserra brothers flinch at that. They’ve all experienced the pain that follows this mood. “He belongs to us,” he continues, “I have promised him to his brothers.”

Lucien’s breath quickens, eyes wide and body tensing. Across him, Eris has his fist clenched. Of course. Of-fucking-course Father can’t allow Lucien to get away from him. _Twice_. If Lucien ever sets foot in that blasted Court again, there won’t be a trial. Won’t be any justice or proper punishment. There will be nothing but his brothers and their cruelty.

The world topples around him, and Lucien nearly follows it, body already slipping from his seat.

A cold shadow presses against him, steadying his body. It also calms his thoughts, whispering comforts in his ear. Lucien doesn’t know if the High Lords can see the shadow and finds that he doesn’t really care. It has stopped him from falling into full-blown panic. He sends a glance Azriel’s way, hoping it can convey how grateful he is.

Father is smirking down at him when he turns back. He tries to put on a brave face, but he knows that his fear has shone through. That he can’t conceal how much panic he’s in. Eris is staring at him, face betraying no emotion, while Joash and Rennari are smirking gleefully. Rennari goes as far as to bare his teeth.

In the corner of his eye, Lucien can see Azriel, close to rising from his chair. Pure rage is painted upon his face. Lucien doesn’t know much of Azriel’s past, but from the brief details Rhys has given him… Azriel knows the feeling of having those who were meant to protect you harm you instead. And is apparently ready to attack Lucien’s family for it. He is stopped by a savage snarl echoing through the room.

Rhys’s teeth are bared, his wings flared behind him. He follows the snarl up with a growl. The look in his eyes…It tells everybody that Beron is a goddamned idiot if he dares to lay a hand on Lucien. Father doesn’t flinch, just keeps staring at Lucien. Lucien almost feels bad for him.

“So you introduce the new tradition of sharing your mate, now, Lady Night?” Beron says, more as an insult than a question. Lucien feels his muscles tense up and his breath stutters slightly. He swallows, trying to regain control of his body. He should’ve suspected that Beron would use their relationship in such a way. 

“I don’t need to share Rhys,” Feyre answers calmly. Lucien’s pulse quickens, frantic. They’ve welcomed him into their relationship, yes, but he never would’ve expected them to publicly admit it. “Lucien belongs to us both. He is ours”

Lucien feels his cheeks flare with heat. He cannot stop thinking of it; being shared between them in bed. He turns to stare at them. Both of them have smirks painted upon their faces. Rhys’s quirked eyebrow tells Lucien that he knows what is running through his mind, and how to use it.

Rhys raises his finger and beckons him over, no place for protest or questions. Feyre shifts to the side, offering him a seat between them. The way they act snaps the air from Lucien’s lungs; dominating; possessive. That’s what they are right now. His father’s words are overruled by a few, simple movements from Rhys and Feyre.

Lucien flushes, but still rises from his chair and starts towards them.

Rennari’s eyes burn into his back.

He plops himself down between them; Lets Feyre guide his head down on her shoulder and swings his feet up into Rhys’s lap. For a small second, he’s scared that he’s gone too far and disrespected Rhys in a way, but Rhys’s hand comes to rest on his leg. Warmth spreads from the touch as Rhys starts running his fingers over Lucien’s supple muscles.

Neri’s eyes follow the movement attentively, hand fisted tightly. Small tendrils of flame and smoke are dancing between his fingertips. He’s never been particularly good at hiding his jealousy. Lucien doesn’t know how to feel about it. Knows that Lucien’s newfound power and lover is not what he is jealous of. It’s the fact that Lucien got away and he didn’t. Eris raises an eyebrow, stuck somewhere between disapproval and pride, and glances over at their father.

Beron makes Neri’s anger seem petty. His face is flushed red; nails biting into his palms; eyes set on death; flames lining his collar.

It’s a familiar sight to Lucien.

It’s a familiar sight to all the Vanserra boys.

Neri and Joash both shift to shield Rennari from Beron’s line of sight. It throws Lucien back to a time when they cared for one another. When smiles and hugs and forehead kisses weren’t covers for cruelty. When it was _them_ against Beron.

“I don’t care if he’s playing whore to the two of you,” Beron hisses and Lucien would’ve blushed and felt ashamed if he hadn’t been accustomed to this kind of talk. He’d received a letter within his first week in the Spring Court. _Now that you’re playing whore for Tamlin…._ His father really needed to find new insults.

Joash snorts at the remark and then falls silent when he catches sight of Eris rolling his eyes. A blush creeps up his cheeks. Disapproval from Eris was always worse than disapproval from their father. Rennari, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care all that much. He’s openly laughing, not minding Eris’s glare. _Drunk_ , Lucien’s mind supplies, _he’s always like this when he’s drunk_. Lucien wonders how long he’s been drunk for now. When Lucien was fourteen and Rennari was seventeen, he’d spent four entire months dead drunk. Lucien can never quite forget those four months.

“He’s my son, it is my right…”

Azriel cuts Beron off with a quip. Lucien breathes out in relief. He’d already been tired of his family, another large discussion on the matter of his relationship with Rhys and Feyre would’ve been unbearable at this point. Lucien sighs and relaxes back against Feyre’s form.

Rhys’s fingers are a grounding and relaxing presence on his thigh throughout the rest of the meeting; So is Feyre’s hand playing with the strands of his hair. It helps him slip out of the slight hold his family had held on him. Rennari slumps back in his seat with a pout when he understands that. Beron still seems hopeful, glare pointed at Lucien through narrowed eyes.

Lucien doesn’t bother to acknowledge him.

-:-

Lucien stays behind for a while, mingling with the courtiers and servants. He makes sure that they’re treated correctly; that their families are safe and giving them as much information he can on the state of the war and their battle plans. Sometimes, he dishes out fake stories in-between, careful of spies. He also gathers some small indicators on Thesan, to test out his character and motivations.

He flinches hard when a knowing hold grips around his wrist. He tries to yank his arm back, but Eris’s hand holds tight. “You’re lucky I managed to winnow Mother out before Father got his hands on her,” Eris hisses. It tells Lucien that his other brothers and Father already is gone, as well. Eris would never act like this if they were around to watch.

“Don’t you _dare_ blame Father on me,” Lucien answers as he whips around to face Eris, surprisingly much backbone for an answer to one of his brothers. Eris’s hold on him softens slightly. “I’m not, Lit—Lucien,” he says, voice low and in his _stern tone_ , “But there’s a _time and place_. Cauldron help whoever gets in Father’s path tonight. No one will step in.”

“You will,” Lucien says softly, suddenly a fragile little boy again. Eris narrows his eyes but starts rubbing his thumb back and forth on Lucien’s wrist. He’s slowly cooling. Letting his flames diminish and his softer side slip through. He sighs.

“Only if he goes after one of you”

 _One of you_. Joash; Neri; Rennari; Lucien; Mother. No longer the twins, Robyn and Korren. The only ones Eris would sacrifice himself for. The only ones Beron could use against him. Even with their cruel nature, Eris never could stop protecting his little brothers. Never stop loving them.

Lucien could faintly remember a time when all his brothers loved him. When they would pat his head and laugh fondly, even softly, at him whenever he tried to impress them. How pride and glory had glowed within him when one of them picked him up and praised him. Then Beron had taken a “talk” with them. One by one. And they’d never been kind since.

Much of the anger previously angled at his brothers, has rightly started to shift onto Beron.

“Keep them out of his way, for me…please,” Lucien mutters and—in a moment of weakness—rests his head on Eris’s shoulder. Eris stiffens, head whipping around to see who might be looking. When he seemingly sees that no one is staring, he relaxes slightly and brushes his fingers through Lucien’s hair. “Anything for you, Littlest Brother,” he mutters, voice wavering.

Then, with a kiss to Lucien’s brow, he steps back in a rush and leaves in quick steps. Lucien is left blinking tears out of his eyes. Then he collects himself, straightens his back and starts towards where the rest of his circle went.

His steps falter, however, when he nears Feyre, his and Rhys’s bedchamber.

There’s a conversation ongoing inside; multiple people present. He licks his lips and wrings his hands. If there’s someone outside of the Inner Circle there, he doesn’t even know if he wants to go inside. He’s too tired of comments and snarky remarks. But he can’t stand outside and wait until they leave. He’ll seem weak then.

 _It’s just Helion_ , Rhys says in his mind and Lucien nearly jumps. Rhys’s laughter echoes and Lucien blushes furiously. He hadn’t realized how open and vulnerable his mind was before he’d entered the Night Court. With the ongoing war, Rhys hadn’t been able to teach Lucien to protect his mind enough. _Come in; you can sit on my lap if you want_.

Lucien snorts and lays his hand on the door handle. He tries to open the door as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb. Rhys’s eyes are already on him, a smile on his lips. Lucien swiftly steps through the door and closes it quietly. Feyre’s eyes widen. As if she’s realized something. Azriel glances at Rhys with an arched eyebrow—a silent question that Rhys answers with a slow nod. Anxiety ties knots in Lucien’s stomach. He hates being left out, especially in cases where he is partially on the outside already.

Helion’s attention immediately leaves Mor and his strangely intense eyes go to Lucien with a snap. Lucien’s entire body stops working, his muscles freezing over. Helion’s expression is unreadable, even to Lucien. He’s ancient, Lucien knows, and powerful beyond his comprehension. To have those eyes on him, assessing him, makes Lucien’s discomforts and self-doubts squirm.

A half-satisfied smirk appears on Helion’s lips. “You’ve got quite the attitude, boy,” he says. Lucien’s breath almost hitches, but he manages to keep it quiet with a swallow. “I hope that’s a compliment,” he answers, voice wavering slightly. _Don’t screw this up_ , he scolds himself. He’s the only High Lord, except Rhys, of course, that has shown any compassion or his family situation. Being on his good side would be a massive win.

Helion chuckles, and Lucien breathes out, relieved. Then, quickly, Helion tenses up and Lucien rakes through his brain in search of what he could’ve done wrong.

That’s, of course, before a blazing hot pain scorches through his nervous system, expelling every emotion but pain from his head. His mouth opens in a silent cry. In the side of his vision, he can see Azriel tense up, ready to lunge for him.

A thrum of power suddenly explodes around Lucien, encasing him. A feeling of hot, molten liquid spreads over his skin and pulls at it. Lucien staggers, vomit burning on his tongue. He falls to the floor with a sharp cry, light flashing in front of his eyes and through his head.

There’s a feeling of a constraint being gone. Like he’d been constantly held back before and hadn’t even known it. His magic feels more natural; the air easier to breathe; his very flesh sitting better on his bones. His face itches slightly.

The hard stone floor comes hurtling for him, air rushing in his ears. He prepares himself for the hurt of landing, barely able to keep the feeling of burning and anguish under wraps. Then he’s caught by a strong set of arms, cradled in a careful embrace.

Helion’s scent of cornfields and sun-heated dirt washes over him and a soft, comfortable warmth seeps out of Helion’s skin and into Lucien’s own. Lucien is embarrassed to realize that he’s essentially clinging to the High Lord, fingers gripping the soft material of his chiton tightly. But he can’t bring himself to let go, as Helion is grounding him now—keeping the pain at bay. He very nearly nuzzles into Helion’s neck but restrains himself.

Helion starts to pull away and Lucien’s fingertips scramble at his arms, trying to tug him close yet again. Helion takes one of his hands, though, and holds it between his own. Lucien breathes in heavily, trying to calm himself. Helion is staring at him, eyes wide and searching. They trail over Lucien’s face and Lucien realizes, with a start, that his face feels different; like the Cauldron itself had changed him.

The air feels lighter around him, easier to breathe and even move. He’s been surrounded by heavy air for so long that he’s forgotten the euphoric feeling of having it removed. There’s only been one other instance when it’s felt like this.

When he’d, at sixteen years old, had accompanied his mother on a small day trip to the Day Court border. His mother had sat and watched as he ran around, playing with the different animals. She’d been so peaceful; content. Her face, however, had twisted in horror the moment the heaviness lifted from the air. Lucien had been confused, at first, when his mother had grabbed him and winnowed straight into her chambers.

He’d stayed there for hours, while his mother went searching for someone. She wouldn’t tell him who. While there, he’d explored the room to the extent he could, as he’d never been in the “grown-up” part of the Forest House. He’d caught a glimpse of himself in what he’d assumed must’ve been a false mirror, as his features had been twisted and strange; sharper angles, high cheekbones and prominent eyes. Then his mother had burst into the room, a cloaked woman in tow.

She’d sat Lucien down in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair as the cloaked woman worked some kind of magic on him. As he’d stared into the woman’s colourless eyes, the heaviness had returned. He’d cried when it did, because he felt like he couldn’t properly breathe through it. “I know it hurts, little kit,” his mother had murmured as she wiped his tears, “But you’re safe now”

He’d forgotten.

Now, it’s impossible to see how he could’ve. Now that the air is clear, the memory is blooming fully. And Lucien sees it; his own changed features in Helion’s face, staring back at him. Lucien’s powers reach out and start to mingle with Helion’s, like calling to like. Lucien almost doesn’t believe it. His skin had always been a slightly deeper colour than his brothers’, as if he’d spent his entire life in the sun. His flames had always been a sliver weaker, as if it was borrowed from someone else. His connections to Beron had always been slightly broken, as if someone else was destined to take the father-role.

Oh.

“My son,” Helion says, his voice breathless and tinted with incredulousness. One of his hands go up to Lucien’s face and, when Lucien doesn’t flinch away from the touch, brushes his thumb down the line of Lucien’s scar. “By the Mother, you’re my son”

Something breaks inside Lucien. Something hard and endless and hurting. Beron isn’t his father. The Autumn Court isn’t really his home. He isn’t Joash and Neri’s full brother. Beron has no claim to him anymore. No claim to hurt him. No claim to destroy him. Lucien can’t stop the tears that start swelling in his eyes. His breath puffs out in small bursts of air.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Mor tug Cass towards the door and Azriel going to follow them. The Shadowsinger bends down to scoop Daeva into his palm as he does. Feyre and Rhys, thankfully, stay as Lucien crumbles in his father’s arms. Helion cradles him to his chest, a hand running through his hair.

Lucien leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He lets the tears run down his cheeks and rubs his face against Helion’s chiton. The material is soft against his skin, and Lucien finds it oddly comforting. Helion’s hand goes back to Lucien’s scar, prodding at the skin around it.

Lucien holds his breath at the memory of Amarantha and her claws at his skin; at the memory of Ianthe tracing it while she pushed him down and climbed on top of him. His chest starts hurting and won’t stop. A burst of power, holding rage, echoes through the room. “I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again,” Helion growls.

Lucien lets a small, vulnerable noise slip through and clings against his father’s—by the Mother, his _Father_ —strong form. A rustling of fabric sounds as Feyre and Rhys move from the couch and inch closer to the two of them. “Did you know?” the deep timbre of Helion’s voice asks. And again it, oddly, comforts him.

“We found out seconds before you did,” Rhys says and Feyre’s hand comes to brush some strands of Lucien’s hair back. Helion starts a half-choked growl and a tug to curl Lucien further into his embrace before stopping himself, letting the protective instincts fall dormant. Strangely, Lucien doesn’t want him to stop it. Beron had never been protective of him—had always allowed his other sons, and even his most favoured guards, to torment and hurt him. There had never been a growl over his eventual pain.

And now Helion is holding him close, running his fingers through his hair and pressing kisses to his brow. The air fills with the scent of saltwater as tears start streaming again. Lucien starts shaking slightly and Helion’s grip loosens to allow him room. Lucien whimpers in protest.

Helion takes it the wrong way and tries to pull his arms fully away; Lucien won’t let him. He forces Helion’s arms back around him and soaks in the warmth from it. A soft noise comes from Feyre. Lucien breathes out, tension seeping from his body.

“I’m sorry if—"

“No,” Lucien cuts off Helion with, “It’s perfect. You—You’re perfect”

Helion hums. Feyre and Rhys sink down on the floor next to them, smiling fondly. Helion’s head whips in their direction, eyes wide, blazing and over-protective. As one would with a new-born. Lucien would be embarrassed if it wasn’t treatment he’d been desperate for, for most of his life. He cuddles into Helion’s hold, breathing in his scent and his warmth and his _everything_.

Tears start leaking down his face, and a single desperate sob escapes his lips.

Helion starts rubbing his hands up and down along Lucien’s body, attempting to comfort him. Just like his mother had used to do.

His mother.

“H—Helion, _Father_ ,” Lucien gasps out, scrambling to come face-to-face with him, “Mother, she’s taken back to the Autumn Court. Beron, he…”

Helion immediately understands. “Rhysand, you and your Lady may wait here,” he says to the two other fae in the room, “Me and my son have something to recover”

Feyre is about to protest but Rhys lays a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

Helion stands, bringing Lucien up with him, and winnows in a brush of warm air.

Eris startles when he sees them appear at the stairs of the Forest House. He quickly glances around, making sure no one is watching before tugging the two of them aside. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses, fingers digging into Lucien’s shoulder. But his eyes keep fleeting over to Helion. As if… as if he…

“Did you _know_?” Lucien asks, stomach dropping. Eris has the decency to look ashamed, guilty, for a small moment before his face closes off again. “You didn’t save any time at all, did you?” he levels at Helion and Lucien can’t actually believe he’s angry about it. “Should I not claim my son to be my son, then, Vanserra?” Helion says back, composed and lacking anger completely.

“Of course not, but Father is already angry and…”

Eris stops himself before he says more. It’s the most open secret of the Vanserra family. Beron’s anger and violence towards his sons. No one is to talk about it out loud. Nobody is to acknowledge it. Helion seems to understand, because his demeanour softens.

“Where is Katya?” he asks, as softly as he can. Eris’ eyes flash. “I will not allow you to—”

“Eris,” Lucien interrupts, “We don’t have _time_. Do you want mother to be safe or not?”

Eris takes a deep breath; runs a hand over his face. “You’re asking the rest of us to take all of his heat,” he says, voice rough and tight, “Don’t make me do this, Little Lucie”

“You can come, too,” Helion suggests.

“ _No._ ”

Lucien grabs his hand. “Please,” he begs, “Please, let me save her”

Eris swallows. His obedience to Beron is only ever thwarted by one thing.

“She’s taking care of Rennari,” he says, and Lucien has never heard him so defeated, “He’s been—” a glance towards Helion “—pouring himself some cups since our return”

Lucien had hoped he’d kicked the habit after Lucien’d left. Apparently not.

“Anyone we need to watch out for?” Lucien asks, careful in his wording.

Eris closes his eyes, leans against the wall, and allows himself to look vulnerable for a rare moment. “Father’s turned his particular affections to Joash these days,” he mutters, “Stay away from him if you want to keep your head, Little Lucie”

Lucien nods—ignores the hurt in his chest.

“Come,” he says to his father and tugs him out of there. Eris is left staring after them.

Lucien has never truly forgotten the hallways of the Forest House. The oppressive darkness of them. How cold they are. He knows the way to Rennari’s chambers by heart. Used to hide there when he was younger. Helion doesn’t hesitate on any steps. In any hallways. Follows Lucien quickly without fail, and with remembrance of urgency.

They find Katya Vanserra with her son’s head in her lap, stroking his hair back. “It’s fine, little one,” she’s muttering, “You’re safe now; he can’t hurt you”

The stink of alcohol is distinct, uncomfortable and expected.

It always is in Rennari’s chambers.

Mother’s eyes snap up with anger and resentment, flash with worry and heartbreak at the sight of Lucien, and fill with surprise and eternal longing when they catch sight of Helion. She’d clutched Rennari closer to her belly when the door had opened, and she hadn’t released him yet.

“What are you doing here?” she asks not in anger, but in confusion. She looks halfway between staying with one son and fleeing to another.

“We’ve come to get you,” Lucien says; ignores his own voice wavering.

Mother makes it impossible to understand what she is feeling, face blank. Her hand has stopped, and his now resting loosely on Rennari’s head. Her eyes glance to the door, as if she’s expecting Beron to come bursting through it any moment. “I can’t,” she whispers, “You know I can’t”

Rennari mutters something and cuddles closer to Mother, and Lucien is struck with the fact that he’s older by only three years. A small whimper escapes his lips. It seems to set her resolve in stone.

“I will not leave them,” she says, and Lucien can glimpse that woman that Beron erased, “Not with him”

“Katya,” Helion immediately cuts in, stepping further into the room, “Please”

Her eyes soften, but her posture doesn’t. “He’ll hurt my boys,” Mother says fiercely, “You know he will”

Rennari’s eyes open drowsily, and it’s a point to how drunk he is that he doesn’t react at the sight of Lucien. “He already does,” he drawls, and all three of them startle, “It’s only just right that _one of us_ should get away from him.”

Mother hesitates, fingers spasming in Rennari’s hair. She leans down, presses her lips to her son’s ear. “Quiet, my boy,” she says, “Do not worry with this”

Helion’s eyes are so sad watching them and Lucien knows it’s not because he’s jealous of Beron having a son with her. He’d gladly take Rennari along, too, if it didn’t mean encouraging Beron’s wrath. “Katya,” he mutters, holding a hand out. Mother sits up at the action.

Mother’s clever eyes work, eyeing Helion. “Could you protect them?” she asks, quiet, “If I left?”

“Yes,” Helion is quick to answer, “I’ll lay curses, spells, anything. They’ll be safe, I swear it.”

Mother sets her mouth in a strong line, and Lucien can see the way she longs to go. The way her body is preparing to leave but staying put at the same time.

“Come on, Katya,” Helion says, “Find that fierceness in you again. That flame that Beron tried to choke. Don’t let him get the satisfaction of turning his actions into your guilt.”

Mother draws in a quick, sharp breath and Lucien sees someone else. Someone else completely. Her back is still straight, but in a different way—fiercer. Her expression is still cool, undebatable, but it’s surer now. More herself and less Beron.

She detangles Rennari from her lap, gazes down at him. “Stay safe, my dear,” she says, kisses his forehead. Rennari murmurs something, curls in on himself. For a small moment, mother’s fiery eyes fall dormant, and Lucien feels an ache in that burn on his arm that he and mother share. She hesitates again, hands raising up against her chest. “Joash and Neri—”

“Will understand,” Lucien cuts her off with, draws her close, “We all understand.”

Mother closes her eyes, and nods. She then opens her eyes and turns her gaze back to Helion. One sharp nod, and Lucien feels he is watching an entire conversation between them. It’s halfway a reassurance, halfway uncomfortable. A few seconds pass, and then Helion nods.

He walks slowly over to Rennari, places his fingers on the boy’s forehead and mutters words Lucien isn’t old enough to remember. A heavy weight enters the room, some dampener that Lucien can’t recognize. Multiple weights, he realizes after a moment, multiple different entities. Helion doing something Lucien can’t grasp or see.

“I’ve done what I can,” Helion says quietly, letting out an exhausted breath, “But I can’t promise the impossible”

Mother nods, and Lucien can tell that she was hoping for more. Lucien grabs her hand—brings it to his mouth. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says. Tries to be sure in his words.

Mother nods and squeezes Lucien’s hand. They’re warm where they’re gripping each other. Helion makes his way over and kisses mother’s forehead and—after a moment’s hesitation—kisses Lucien’s forehead as well. Lucien leans into it, still unbelieving of the love he’s never felt he’s deserved.

And he can finally breathe a breath of relief.

**Author's Note:**

> TY for reading, please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!


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